The Nine Lives of Peeta Mellark
by operaghost517
Summary: The 9 most important moments in the Hunger Games for Peeta Mellark, all told from his point of view. From his first time meeting Katniss to the moment he realizes she had been pretending all along. **Sequel is up! Thirteen Reasons Why
1. Kindergarten

Kindergarten

**So if you've read any of my other stuff you know that my favorite thing to write is probably one shots, which is kind of how I got this idea. There is so much Peeta has to say that we just don't hear in the Hunger Games, so I wanted to explore a bit deeper into what I think are the most pivotal moments in his life that we read about in the Hunger Games. However, I didn't want to rewrite the whole story from his point of view (tried that one, did **_**not **_**work out well) so I just decided to do a series of one-shots about these moments that aren't necessarily connected. If it goes well, I might do one for Catching Fire, too, and maybe for Mockingjay (which comes out next month!)**

**By the way, in case the title doesn't exactly make sense, it comes from a line I thought of a long time ago. "Each time I see her, I live again." Kinda cheesy, I know, so I probably won't use it, but I liked the idea of it for a title. I don't literally think Peeta has nine lives :)  
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**Please read and review! All comments are appreciated! **

I was bouncing on the balls of my feet in anticipation, already waiting at the front door for my father, though school didn't start for another hour. "Father!" I called out impatiently, then strained my ears to hear the dull thump of his steps that told me he was on his way.

"Hold your horses, Peeta!" he laughed as he made his way down the staircase. "No one will be there at this hour!"  
It didn't matter to me that he was right. I had been looking forward to my first day of school for as long as I could remember. My oldest brother was already in school when I was born, and the other started just last year. I remember the intense jealously that flooded me when my father brought home a new book bag for him, filled with a notebook and four still unsharpened pencils. Now, with my own book bag slung around my shoulder, I couldn't imagine anyone not feeling jealous of me.

Not to mention the fact the school meant five hours I was out of the house and out of the reach of my mother's hand.

My father regarded me for a moment, the chuckled again. "Alright, Peeta. You're so eager, I see no point in keeping you here, though your brothers won't even be awake for another half hour!" He reached out for my hand, and I clutched his as if it were the only thing tethering me to the earth.

We walked up to the dilapidated school house—which even so was one of the nicest buildings in District 12—and, as my father predicted, were the first ones there. We sat against the wall for about fifteen more minutes before more children started arriving, sometimes with their parents or older siblings, sometimes alone. She came alone.

My father pointed her out for me as she walked up the path from the Seam. He tapped my shoulder and gestured in her direction, bringing to my full attention the little girl in the red plaid dress. Her hair was done in two simple braids that she kept pulling nervously.

"See that little girl?" my father asked me, and waited for me to nod. "I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner."

Only this surprising revelation could get me to remove my gaze from the girl and stare in utter shock at my father. I couldn't understand how anyone could have _not _wanted my father. Chock it up to boyhood idolization, but still. My father was handsome enough, and I assumed he had been even handsomer before three kids and ten years with my mother. He was well off, as far as District 12 goes, and an undeniably kind man.

"A coal miner?" I asked incredulously, "Why would she want a coal miner if she could've had you?"

The corners of his mouth twitched up in a sad smile as he continued to watch the little girl. I wondered if he was remembering the way her mother looked on their first day of school. "Because when he sings…even the birds stop to listen."

I wanted to laugh and tell him that of course the birds didn't listen, but at that moment the voices of the teachers called us inside for the start of the day. I gave my father a fleeting hug and hurried inside.

There were two kindergarten classes, and to my dismay I was placed in the opposite one from the little girl in the red dress. Yet later that day, I found myself behind her in line to a music assembly. I started to talk to her, but a teacher shushed me and told me I had to be silent in line.

We all were herded into a room and sat in a circle around a stool where the music teacher sat. She smiled at us, bringing the wrinkles on her haggard face to greater relief. She couldn't have been more that fourty, but even at my young age I knew that the unfriendly conditions of our district would wear on us before we reached even our tenth birthdays.

Still, she seemed nice enough and led us through some simple activities. Singing our ABC's, some silly song to the same tune about a star, and finally asking us who knew the valley song.

Music wasn't common in my household as my mother claimed it gave her a headache, so I had no idea. I looked around for who might know it, and to my surprise—and glee—the girl with the red dress's hand shot up in the air. A few other hands straggled limply up in the air after hers, but the teacher seemed hardly to notice. She motioned for the girl to walk forward.

"What's you name, sweetie?"

"Katniss," replied the girl with a soft, yet determined voice.

"Katniss," the teacher echoed, "Would you be willing to sing the class the valley song?"

The girl—Katniss—looked slightly nervous, but with the skill of a born climber mounted the stool the teacher gestured to and began to sing.

I hadn't believed my father when he said hers could make even the birds be silent. Now, I had no doubt that could be true. I swear, no one even breathed as she sang. Her voice was sweet and melodic, obviously still maturing, but to me she sounded like an angel. She didn't focus on any one person as she sang, but more of us all as a group. I didn't know more than two or three of the other kids in the room, but in that moment I felt connected to all of the by our admiration for the girl in the red dress. Her face lit with a joy that I had never experienced in my own home, and I knew then I was a goner. I wanted to talk to her, for her to be my friend. I wanted to see her home, her family, a place that could bring her such joy, even if her father was only a coal miner.

Of course, as time went on my feelings would change. I would want to be more then just her friend, though that made it even more impossible. Still, whenever I saw her, running around with that boy Gale who every girl seemed to love, or holding her little sister's hand as they traveled through the Seam, I was reminded of that moment I heard her sing. She seemed perfect to me, then. As the years have gone on I've witnessed her temper and her pride, her determination to remain apart from everything and occasionally even her cruelty. All of these make her seemed flawed to everyone else. To me, they make her seem human.

And she is still perfect to me.


	2. Bread

Bread

**Thanks everyone for the reviews/favorites/alerts! I'm glad to hear you're enjoying it. I'll update this once a week, so it'll last about 2 months. Keep telling me what you think! I've already got the 9 moments picked out, but if there's one you'd really like to read but don't think I've included, let me know and I'll add it in. Thanks!**

**Read and review, as always.  
**

It had been a particularly slow day at the bakery. The relentless rainfall discouraged people from walking the streets, and already this had stretched my mother's patience. We all tiptoed around her, trying to placate her her anger. I had avoided her hand all day with diligent attention to the bread I was baking, but when early afternoon arrived and we'd only had two customers, there really was nothing to do. Her temper was rearing its ugly head, and I wasn't surprised when moments later I heard her screaming. I figured she was yelling at one of my brothers, or maybe the new errand boy, but the words didn't make sense if that were the case.

"What are you doing?" she screeched, her harsh voice echoing throughout the narrow street our bakery was on. "Get out of here! I am so _tired_ of you worthless brats from the Seam pawing through our trash! Just because you're too stupid to feed yourself doesn't mean you can come steal our food! Now go, or do you want me to get the Peacekeepers?"

My heart thudded painfully in my chest as I carefully set the loaf of bread I was supposed to be cooking down and went to see who my mother was yelling at. I had a strange premonition I already knew…She had looked so thin lately. Every day at lunch I watched her chewing on some sort of leaves while I guiltily unpacked my meal of bread, meat and on a good day cheese. Every day I wanted to give her all the food I had, but I knew she wouldn't accept my help.

I peered out from behind my mother's back just as she was carefully replacing the lid to our trash bin. My heart wanted to cry out at how desperate and emaciated she looked. Her cheeks were hollow and her eyes had the look of someone who had seen too many hungry nights. I knew what it was like to be hungry. There had been bad winters when no one could afford our bread, and eventually we couldn't even afford the materials. Yes, I had been hungry. But I had never been starving, as it was evident she was.

She caught me staring at her and there was a faint glint of recognition in her eyes, but she looked away quickly and continued backing away until she sunk down against a tree in defeat. I slipped back inside and back to the bread, but I was unable to get Katniss out of my mind. I'd always seen her as undefeatable; the consummate survivor who would do whatever it took to keep her family alive. But the look she clearly wore as her head sank into her hands said _I give up_.

I was just about to place the two large loaves of bread back into the oven when suddenly I had an idea. Feigning tripping, I threw both breads into the fire as if in an effort to keep from falling on my face. My mother wasn't watching at that moment, but it still felt too obvious to simply place them in the fire. I waited a long moment to make sure they were thoroughly inedible for our customers before fishing both of the out with a pair of tongs. My mother walked up just as I set the second one on the counter and screamed in rage as she saw their blackened crusts.

"_Idiot boy!"_ she hollered, picking up the loaves in rage and throwing them to the floor. "Are you too worthless to even cook a piece of bread?" She swung at me and her hand made contact with my cheek, leaving me reeling backward with tears in my eyes. I was long used to her abuse, but that didn't make it any less painful. Biting my lip to keep from releasing any sound of pain, I hurriedly gathered up the loaves before she could throw them away and walked out the back door.

"Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!"

I glanced over my shoulder and saw her still watching me, so I began to tear off chunks and toss them in the pig trough. I wished she would leave, because each piece I tore off was one more bite Katniss would not have. Luckily, the front bell rang, and my mother hurried off to help the customer.

I felt her eyes on the back of my head, staring intently as I checked back once more to make sure my mother was really gone, then threw the loaf of bread in her direction. I didn't stop long enough to see how close I had made it to her before I chucked the second one and hurried back inside, closing the door tightly behind me. It wasn't for my benefit that I didn't want to get caught, but for hers.

I smiled slightly as I got back to my work as I imagined what the rest of her evening might be like. She would bring home the bread and her family would crow in delight. Maybe she'd tell them how she got it, maybe she wouldn't. It didn't really matter to me as long as they were all fed. I hoped that spring was coming soon and she would be able to find food easier. I wasn't sure how much longer I could burn bread for her before my mother took drastic measures, but I knew that as long as she needed it, I would.

I'd hoped that moment would function as some sort of bridge between us. That the gap I just couldn't seem to cross would magically close and she would somehow see me as I saw her. I went to school the next day with a big smile on my face, all for her. Over the course of the day, it slowly disappeared. She didn't make eye contact with me in the hallways. Even more than that, she seemed to go out of her way to avoid me. There was a pain in my chest as I realized that despite everything she wanted no more to do with me than ever.

I guess that's all I'd have. To love her from a distance. To watch her from the sidelines. To be her silent savior, when the rest of the world turned its back.


	3. Reaping

Reaping

**Phew, barely made it. I said once a week, and once a week it is! thank you so much dancelikeafool, fangandiggyaremine, LOLhaily, ladaane, and lostliveson4eva for reviewing. Please keep it up! A huge thanks also to everyone who added as an alert or favorite, or me as a favorite author! that's my favorite :) **

**It's hard to write from Peeta's perspective as we are so exceedingly different, but it's a challenge I love! Let me know if you love it (or not) too.**

**EDIT: Thank you PK9 for pointing out those pesky spelling and grammar errors, always appreciated :)  
**

_ Reaping Day_. The name alone is disgusting to me. Reaping is a farming term, meant for the cutting down and gathering of crops. Instead, the Capitol has twisted its meaning to the cutting down and gathering of our children in order to play in their sick games. Another reminder that we are not our own, that they own us, and there is nothing we can do about it.

I don't have much to worry about for myself. At seventeen, I only have 7 entries (there were two tough years I had to sign up for tesserae because we needed the extra grain to make bread). Still, I was much better off than a certain girl from the Seam who had to have her name in at least twenty times. Eleven years I had watched her, failing over and over again to talk to her, get to know her in some minute way. The last real contact we'd had is when I'd given her the bread.

For four years I've watched her at the beginning of every month as she passed by the bakery, little wagon full with a meager supply of oil and grain. She doesn't know me, but I know her, and I know that she has signed up for each member of her family, tripling her chance of being drawn. Each year as anticipation rises for the games, my father sees me get increasingly nervous and tells me it will all be okay, I don't have enough entries to be seriously worried. I don't, but she does.

My father has laid out an old suit of his for me to wear. Like animals, we are made to look nice before we are slaughtered. I slip into the deep brown material, faded slightly over the years and quickly run a comb through my hair. I'm already running a bit behind, and don't want to cause any trouble by being late.

The usual scene awaits me at the town center. Boys and girls separated, herded like cattle into their respective age groups. Family members crowded anxiously around, clutching at each other, silently praying, and some already crying.

It makes me sick to see the men darting around taking bets on whose child it will be. These heartless creatures have no one they care about at stake, and so instead use this as a perverted opportunity to make a few coins.

I join the group of boys my age, and give a subdued hello to a few of them. While the Hunger Games may be a cause of revelation in the Capitol, here it is not something to celebrate. We all put on the show we must in order to stay the Capitol's vengeful hand, but tonight our thoughts go with the two families who will lose a child, and with those children who will lose their lives.

We are all certain that this is the outcome, for District 12 has only ever had two winners, and one of them is now a roaring drunk. The mayor gives a speech, which I barely register as now I have caught sight of Katniss. She looks more nervous than I have ever seen her at a reaping, and I realize this is because it is the first year her little sister, Primrose, has been entered into the reaping. I notice her make eye contact with Gale, and that irrational jealousy flares up in me. I have no right to be jealous, because despite all my wishing I have no claim on her. She looks away quickly though and focuses as Effie Trinket begins to talk.

"Ladies first!" she calls happily. Effie, like the typical Capitol-inhabitant, treats the Games as just that—a game. She doesn't seem to register that twenty-three lives will be lost this year. Her face shows no remorse as she pulls out one of twenty-three names whose future will be cut short. Her smile doesn't fade as she unfolds the piece of paper and reads it to the waiting crowd.

"Primrose Everdeen."

My gaze instantly flickers to Katniss. She looks frozen, as if she can't believe what is happening. For a moment I'm worried she is about to faint, and I begin to push through the crowd of boys to reach her. Out of the corner of my eye I can see her sister, so tiny, about to mount the stage, when Katniss comes back to life.

"Prim!" she cries, the desperate note in her voice clearly audible. "Prim!" Her face says she would fight her way through the crowd in order to get to the stage, but luckily, they part for her. She races for the girl, and pushes her behind her in a heartbreakingly protective gesture. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

My heart drops into the pit of my stomach at these words. _No!_ I want to scream at her. I may have never really had a chance with her, but would this be my last chance to see the girl I loved? Oh, how I wished _I _could volunteer in place of _her_.

Effie tries feebly to protest that Katniss has volunteered at the wrong time, but the mayor cuts in.

"What does it matter?" he asks sadly, and I sense a much deeper meaning than just when Katniss can volunteer. What does anything matter, when the Capitol can tear apart everything we love? What does it matter when they kill our children, our friends, our siblings? "What does it matter?" he repeats. "Let her come forward."

Her poor sister Prim is hysterical now as she screams for her sister. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!" I know Prim. She's a particular favorite of my father and often comes to our bakery to trade some of her homemade cheese. To see her like this is unbearable. I wonder briefly what it is like to love someone that much you would sacrifice your life for them. Then I smile slightly and my stupidity, for I I've just learned what that's like.

"Prim, let go," she demands, and I can imagine the effort it takes her to keep her strong façade. "Let go!"

Gale pulls Prim off Katniss, and I'm ashamed to admit that in spite of everything I am still jealous of him. How I wish that it were me who she trusted with her sister! Me, that she gave that look to, as if her heart were breaking to see him.

I try to tune out Effie as she banters ridiculously about the honor it is for Katniss to be in the games. Instead, I try to focus on the face of the girl I love, perhaps the last time I will ever see it in person. Finally, when Effie calls for applause, I fold my arms resolutely across my chest, refusing to applaud at this sick twist of events. I expect to be in the minority. Most people wouldn't dare to defy the Capitol this way. Acknowledging what a horrible thing this is, that we do not agree. But to my intense surprise, not a single person brings their hands together, or utters a single noise.

Just as I had in kindergarten, I feel connected to every single other person in this crowd for our admiration of Katniss, the girl in the red dress. It doesn't surprise me when as a whole we raise our three middle fingers of our left hands to our lips, and hold them out to her. Goodbye to someone we love.

This is the kind of response Katniss elicits. I can think of no one else we would have done this for. She doesn't even know, can't even begin to comprehend how we see her. The effect she has on people when she forgets for a moment to scowl, and the hard shell she's worn since her father's death slips.

Now I can see the tears welling up in her eyes that she is trying to hold back. I've somehow made my way close to the stage now, so close I feel as if I could reach out and hold her. I don't hear at all what they are saying anymore. My attention is completely focused on her. I vaguely register faint fury as Haymitch plunges off the stage—he's not even sober enough to protect her!—before Effie has already reached her and in a second time and pulls out the boys name.

"Peeta Mellark," she calls.

My mouth drops open in shock, but I quickly close it. Like Katniss, I must try to remain emotionless. Still, I can't help but smile a little bit as I resist the urge to laugh at the irony of everything. Eleven years I have wanted to talk to her, to get to know her, to have some sort of connection with her. Now, we have a connection that will most likely be the death of both of us.

I see the recognition flick briefly in her eyes as she watches me walk up toward the stage. I wonder what she remembers about me. Am I the boy she sees in the hallway of school sometimes? Or am I simply the baker's son? Or—but perhaps this would be hoping too much—does she remember that day with the bread? Does she know how much I would still do for her? That I would—and now see I will—lay down my life for her?

The rest of the ceremony is a blur of dark hair and grey eyes, the warm feel of her tan skin. Last memories that I will take with me to my grave—a grave that is much closer than I had ever thought.

Katniss and I are ushered into the Justice Building, but before I can give any slight word of comfort we are separated into different rooms. They bring in a few of my friends first. It's awkward, to say the least. What do you say to someone for the last time? We exchange a few strained phrases and they tell me they'll see me soon, though we all know it's a lie. They each give me a brief hug and then they are gone. Ten years of friendship and that's my goodbye.

My family is next. My brother's usually laughing faces are sober, for once. My oldest brother looks pained. No matter how he's teased us, he always has been protective of his younger brother's, and now her tussles my hair affectionately. I don't believe he would have volunteered in place of me had he the option, but he still looks wretched. He doesn't give me any lies about seeing me soon, and for that I'm glad.

"Hang in there, kid," he says throatily. He pulls me in for a hug, his arms tight around my shoulders for a brief moment as he whispers in my ear, "Don't lose yourself." And then he's gone.

My other brother's face is clouded with guilt as he walks toward me, leaving me no time to contemplate the parting words I was left with. "Peeta…" he whispers, his voice filled with regret. Yet still I know that given another chance he would have made the same choice.

"Don't worry about it," I say gruffly, patting his shoulder. How did I end up comforting him? "I don't blame you for it. No one volunteers." But we both know the contrary to this statement is sitting in the room right next door. He smiles at me, and I'm glad that will be my last memory of him. He, too, gives me a brief yet emotional hug before leaving the room. At this rate all of my goodbyes will be finished in less than ten minutes.

My father seems the most perilously close to tears of all of them. "Peeta," he says, embracing me tightly. "Son, I'm so proud of you. You try your best, all right son? You're smart, strong, and brave, and don't count yourself out of this game."

I nod, for I wasn't counting myself out. I'm going to stay alive as long as possible, as long as she needs me. I will keep her alive.

My father leaves, too, murmuring something about that "poor girl." I have a hunch he is talking about Katniss, or Prim, more likely. He adores that girl, and I hope in Katniss' and my absences, he will provide them with enough food to get by. I would ask him to, but he is already gone. I huge lump wells up in my throat as I see his profile disappear from view as I realize that was the last time I would ever seen my father. It hurt more with him than with any of the others. I sink onto the couch, my fingers digging into the plush velvet fabric. It takes me a moment to realize not everyone has left yet. I notice my mother has been sitting on the couch in the corner, watching this whole exchange silently. Vaguely I wonder if in the face of my death she is going to tell me that she loves me, and she's sorry for the way she's treated me. But of course that's absurd.

She observes me for a long moment. "You know, District 12 might have a winner this year," she says thoughtfully, and for a moment I'm frozen with absolute shock for the faith in me I never knew she had. "She's a fighter, that girl."

Once again I'm fighting an absurd desire to laugh. Of _course _she wasn't talking about me. I'm exceedingly glad, however, that she thinks Katniss could win, too. If she does, it'll all be worth it.

And may the odds be ever in her favor.


	4. Opening Ceremony

Opening Ceremony

**Thank you everyone for reviewing! They mean so much to me****, and they really are extremely helpful. Katiebear95, I tried to stay truer to the Peeta from the books, and PK9 I proofread this time! But let me know if there are any mistakes :) **

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**Enjoy!  
**

My prep team introduces themselves with many flourishes and squeals of excitement. Cleon, Hermia and Nestor are all clad in exotic outfits and the strange, surgical mutations so popular to the Capitol as they begin their observation and assessment of their new project. Me. Cleon's skin was tinged a light blue, with dark blues swirls covering every visible inch of his body. Combined with his white hair, this gave him the effect of an ocean wave. Hermia, on the other hand, was relatively pure of surgeries, sticking to a simple golden design on her forehead. Her flamboyant outfit makes up for it, however. Nestor gave me most of a shock, for his eyes are a terrifyingly vivid red, to match the rubies inlaid into his skin. However, when he smiles his eyes crinkle up, camouflaging their disturbing color, and I can almost pretend he is not from the Capitol, primping me before they kill me.

"Look at those eyes," coos Hermia. "So blue!"

"And his hair. For District 12, this is quite well taken care of," adds Nestor. I can't decide if that's a compliment. It's rather backhanded, for it did imply a lack of hygiene back home. Although I suppose it _is _justified.

"But his hands!" cries Cleon unhappily. "Look! Burn marks! Scars! Rough as sandpaper! How am I ever going to make these presentable to the audience?" I draw my hands back from him and fold them under my arms, eyeing him warily. I don't want any Capitol surgery to fix my hands.

"Cleon, there you go again!" an exasperated Hermia says. "Peeta, dear, it's okay. He doesn't mean anything by it! We're going to fix you up to be your best self!"

I sigh. What makes them think this isn't already my best self? And I don't like that she called me dear. She can't be more than a few years older than I am. I'm about to go into a fight to the death, don't I deserve to be treated as an adult?

The prep team begins their work, giggling and chatting the entire time. I join in a few times, when my thoughts aren't entirely consumed with how to keep Katniss alive through these games, because though they are just pawns of the Capitol's, they seem like genuinely nice people. And, seeing as my appearance is in their hands—and appearances play a _huge _role in the Hunger Games—I figure it's safest to play nice.

I'm forced into multiple baths of an unknown substance. I'm slightly wary of the strange color and repugnant smell, but in the end I slip into the strange liquid, and am a bit surprised to find the overall effect quite nice. When I'm out of the tub and sitting with my prep team around me—no one bothers to hand me a robe, apparently nakedness doesn't phase people here—the real work begins. Nestor begins combing and cutting my hair with fervor. He seems to take so much off that I wonder if there's anything left, though I know he won't make me bald. That would not go over well.

Cleon attacks every little scar and burn on every single portion of my body with a thick lotion I'm unfamiliar with until my skin is as soft as a baby's. Hermia, meanwhile, has been shaving my face. The razor she uses is unlike any I have ever seen at home, though. It is much more technical, and when I ask her what it's for, she says that it will prevent any hint of stubble from showing the entire time I'm in the arena. I guess beards don't go over well in the Capitol either.

When—at last—they were finished, they finally handed me a thin robe and told me to wait for my stylist. All three were chatting animatedly as they left the room, and I had a seat on the small couch as I waited.

I'm not kept waiting long. My thoughts have barely reached what Katniss is going through right now when the door creaks open and my stylist walks in. She's rather tall, almost matching my height. It doesn't look gangly on her, though, merely graceful. Her white-blonde hair is pulled back into a tight bun and her deep brown eyes regard me thoughtfully. I'm relieved to see she is completely free of any disfiguring surgeries, for I don't know how many more shocking sights I can handle today.

"Hello, Peeta. I'm Portia," she says in a friendly tone. I greet her politely. "Stand up please." I do as she asks, and she walks around me, and as she does a smile begins to light up her face. "Yes…this will work well, I think."

"Er…Excuse me, but what will work well?"

"Oh! You're costume, of course! My partner, Cinna, and I think we've come up with quite a show-stopper."

Cinna. That must be Katniss' stylist. I hoped he was as mild as Portia seemed. I sensed Katniss' nerves and patience were more frayed than she let on.

"Basically, we're all tired of seeing District 12 dressed as coal miners. Very overdone." I smiled at her, completely in agreement. "So, instead of focusing on the miners, we are focusing on the coal." She began to pull out my costume. I decided to trust her implicitly and tried not to register what I was being put into before I could see everything. When a bit later I was fully dressed, she turned me to face a mirror, Portia asked me, "What do you think?"

I regarded myself for a moment. The outfit is rather simple. A black unitard that leaves nearly every inch of my body covered in a thick layer of fabric. Laced up to my knees are a pair of shiny black boots unlike anything I've ever worn. Simple, and truthfully, a bit boring. However, the one thing that I suppose will catch some attention is the cape and headpiece. Both are made of streams of orange, yellow, and red. I understand now that the concept is the burning of the coal, but I still don't see how this is the show-stopper Portia claimed it to be.

"It's…great, Portia," I say, unwilling to voice my true opinion.

She sensed it, though, I could tell. However, instead of looking crestfallen, she merely looked gleeful. "I haven't even told you the best part. The part that's going to make you two _unforgettable._" She fingered the material of my cape gingerly. "We are going to light this on fire."

About an hour later, my panic still hasn't worn. I'm waiting for Katniss before the ceremony begins, and I can't help pacing back and forth in worry. Despite Portia's assurances that the fire is synthetic and can't harm us, I can't help but be frightened. How am I supposed to keep Katniss if she is burned to a crisp before the games even begin?

She enters with her stylist and team, dressed in an identical costume as mine and with an identical mask of worry. Everyone congratulates each other on a job well done, but Katniss manages to find her way to me as we are being herded to the Remake Center in preparation for the ceremonies.

"What do you think?" she whispers close to my ear. "About the fire?"

I set my jaw into a hard line as I answer. "I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine."

"Deal," she says. It takes a great deal of effort for me to hold back a smile, though I can't exactly place why. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said," she continues, "but I don't think he considered this angle."

This makes me realize I haven't even seen Haymitch all day. "Where is Haymitch anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?" says Peeta.

"With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame."

I stare at her for a shocked moment. Katniss, the girl I've seen laugh maybe twice, just made a joke in the face of our—well, hopefully just my—imminent deaths. Suddenly I'm laughing, and the feel warms my entire body. As strange as it may sound, there is no one I would rather share this experience with than her. She looks startled for a moment, then joins in my laughter heartily. Perhaps it is just her nerves that let her guard drop like this, but I'm glad I'll have at least one happy memory with her.

We're cut off by the sound of music, undeniably announcing the start of the opening ceremony. We are ushered onto our chariot pulled by coal black horses. As District 12, we have a few minutes after District 1 departs before we need to be ready. I'm not sure if this is a blessing or a curse.

Just as District 11 pulls out into the audience, Cinna shows up with a torch. A lit torch. The instant before his arm bends down to our capes I know what he is going to do, and I feel the familiar swoop of panic in the pit of my stomach. I wait for the searing heat to burn me, but only feel a pleasant, tickling sensation. Before I can utter a sound he's lighting our headdresses, but I'm not worried this time. "It works," he sighs, relieved. He tilts Katniss' chin up kindly. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!"

I plastered the biggest, most Capitol-worthy smile I could muster on my face and focus my eyes on the entry. Katniss interrupts my focus with a question. "What's he saying?" I turn to Katniss to see where she is looking, but don't make it any farther than her face for a moment. The flames atop her head reflect beautifully in her bright, gray eyes, and cast mysterious shadows on her face. She is radiant.

I shake my head and turn to where she is pointing. I see Cinna yelling something at us, and see him hold his own hands together. "I think he said for us to hold hands," I say. With barely disguised delight, I grab her hand in mine. Cinna gives us a thumbs up, and then we are off.

I hear the crowds' intake of shocked breath, their cheers, twice as loud tan for any other district, and I know we are a hit. I wave, smile, do all that is expected of me, but out of the corner of my eye I am always looking at Katniss. The majority of my brain is fixated on her warm hand in mine. Her fingers are gripping me so tightly I can see her knuckles are white. I see her slowly gaining confidence, blow kisses at the crowd. Their screams are deafening, and for the first time, I feel hope.

They love her. She will get sponsors. No one will want to see the girl who was on fire die. As for the boy who was on fire, well, he will do whatever it takes to keep her alive.

When we reach the City Circle, her grip loosens as if she is about to let go. I can't bear it if she does. "No, don't let go of me," I beg, tightening my grip. "Please. I might fall out of this thing." It's an outright lie, I simply need to feel her there beside me, but I hope she can't tell.

"Okay," she replies, but I can tell she is cautious now. I wish I knew what went on in her head! What is she thinking now? Why is her grip still slack, when all I went to do is hold her tighter? She has no idea what it's like for me, right now. Eleven years I have waiting for a chance to be close to her like this. Eleven years I've wanted to hold her hand. Now that I finally have that chance, I'm lucky if I even have eleven days left in my life.

My throat chokes up as for the first time I truly appreciate how little of life I have left. I'll never see my father again, my brothers, my friends. I'll never frost a cake and forget everything else in the world. I'll never wake up to the smell of freshly baked bread. I'll never have a toasting ceremony at my wedding. I'll never hold my own child in my arms.

I have a few days before the games. A few days left to talk to her, look at her, listen to her. Just a few days to fill my memory with enough thoughts of her to last until my death. I know I want her to be my last thought, because it is for her that I am going to die.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there," I say, my voice husky.

"It didn't show," she responds casually. "I'm sure no one noticed."

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often," I tell her. "They suit you." I smile at her, hoping maybe to get a smile back like I did earlier today.

Instead, she surprises even me, standing tiptoe and kissing me on the cheek.

_Thus, with a kiss, I die. _


	5. Interview

Interview

**Wow, this is long. If you like reading longer chapters, then here you go! If not, then sorry and the next couple will probably be shorter. Massive amounts of thanks to everyone who has reviewed etc. Keep reviewing, I'll keep writing, and we'll live happily ever after! **

**Mockingjay in less than a week now!  
**

It had been a very long couple of days. Training had been taxing, though there was some benefit of it. My last few days in the Capitol had been spent in her company, since Haymitch had ordered us to present ourselves as a pair. I hadn't told him yet, what I planned to do, but I wonder if he sensed it. Also, I watched Katniss quite closely, and it only reaffirmed my belief that she very well could make it out alive. She was a natural at nearly every station. Then, when she pulled an eleven after seeing the Gamemakers, I was sure.

Now, I'm sitting next to her on the stage with the entire population of the Capitol watching us. It's nerve-wracking to say the least. I hear Katniss' shallow breath next to me, and see her fingers digging into the palm of her hand. I wish I could take her hand and smooth out those fingers and hold them in mine, but I know she wouldn't allow it. Besides, in just a few minutes she'll know how I feel.

She looks stunning, as usual. Though I loved her even when she was just wearing simple and worn clothing with her long braid down her back, I must say that Cinna certainly does know how to put her to her best advantage. Again she is dressed as if she is on fire, this time a bit less obviously though. The form fitting gown is covered with little jewels that give the impression of flames while still being subtle. They've put more makeup on her today, which I don't really care for. She's so naturally beautiful, and all this does is make her look more like those from the Capitol.

But who am I kidding. It doesn't matter to her in the least what I think. She won't even look at me. I know she is livid about me asking to be coached separately. However, I bet she is glad as well. I could see playing friends was wearing on her, and impassive indifference is easier on her.

Still, as we are sitting I want so much to talk to her. To whisper a joke about the other tributes, or a comforting word to calm the nerves written so clearly on her face.

Though each interview lasts a full three minutes, and there are twenty-two before us, it seems like only moments before Katniss is standing and straightening her skirt before walking shakily to where Caesar Flickerman is waiting. I was slightly angry with myself, because I had actually wanted to pay attention to the interviews. It's always helpful to know your competition. Still, I had a fairly good idea of my strategy once I got into the Arena.

Katniss' dazed face was blown up onto the huge television screens surrounding us. She shakes Caesar's hand as he asks his first question, and I can tell she's still not really registering what is going on.

"What's impressed you the most since you arrived here?"

A good twenty seconds passes before she is able to answer. Twenty seconds where I have to bite my lip from calling out to her, and grab my chair fiercely to keep from running to her.

"The lamb stew," she replies.

I want to burst out laughing at her reply. It's things like this that are what make her such a remarkable creature. She is so unexpected! I manage to keep quiet, though, because none of the other tributes are laughing and I don't want to stand out. Yet.

The rest of the interview continues, with Katniss making a charming impression and surely winning over the hearts of half the Capitol. When she twirls for the crowd and shows off her beautiful gown, I see how well she can play this game. This giggling, twirling girl is nothing like the one I have fallen in love with, but she is exactly what the Capitol wants, and it is going to make my job much easier.

Toward the end of her interview, the lighthearted mood disappears. Caesar asks her about Prim, about the moment she volunteered to take her place.

"Let's go back then, to the moment they called your sisters name at the reaping," he says. "And you volunteered. Can you tell us about her?"

I see the pain flicker briefly across her face before she composes herself once again. "Her name's Prim. She's just twelve. And I love her more than anything."

The entire audience—and probably all of Panem—was utterly silent, transfixed by Katniss' words.

"What did she say to you? After the reaping?"

Katniss' face is so heartbreakingly free of emotion, but there is a clear effort written on it as she forces out the next words. "She asked me to try really hard to win."

"And what did you say?"

Katniss stands taller, and suddenly the giggling girl of just moments ago is gone, replaced by a formidable woman. "I swore I would."

_Yes, yes, yes! _I want to cry out. She will come home. It will all be worthwhile. Prim will see her sister again. Panem will have their darling girl who was on fire. She will grieve for me, surely, simply for the fact that we were from the same district. But she will get over it, rather quickly I presume. I can live with that, as long as I know she will be happy.

The buzzer sounds, and Katniss is ushered offstage while I'm ushered on. In the roughly ten steps it takes me to reach Caesar, I compose myself and fix my face with a huge grin, as if there isn't anything I'd rather be doing than standing on this stage next to Caesar.

"So, Peeta," Caesar begins, and I force myself to listen closely to his words. Haymitch and I talked, and I know exactly what my approach to this interview will be. "What's your impression of the Capitol? Are you as impressed by the lamb stew as Katniss?"

I chuckle appreciatively at his joke before I answer. "Well, I'm a baker's son back home in District Twelve," I say. "So the bread is much more impressive to me. In fact, I was just telling Katniss the other day how much the tributes are like the breads from their districts." This is, of course, a complete lie, for Katniss and I have hardly spoken in the past few days, and certainly not about bread. "See, bread from District One…." I go on to describe the similarities of the bread and the tributes, much to the amusement of the audience, but to me I'm just stalling.

The audience was roaring with laughter by the time I wish finished, for which I was exceedingly grateful.

Caesar, who had laughed the loudest of all, continued on his questions without a hitch. "So we know how different District Twelve is, but what's the biggest change for you coming to the Capitol?"

"The shower!" I respond without hesitation. "There are so many buttons and dials, it took me twenty minutes just to figure out how to get the water running the first time I used it!" I grin sheepishly. "And just this morning, after I thought I had it figured out, I press a button and a big pink cloud puffs out. Tell me, do I still smell like roses?"

Caesar bends his head toward me and takes a big sniff. He lets out a guffaw. "You sure do!" he cries, much to the amusement of the Capitol. "Reminds me of my grandmother, must say."

I laugh, pretending to be insulted. "What a way to send me into the Arena, Caesar! 'Oh, there's the boy that smells like Caesar's grandmother!'"

We're both laughing now, and even though mine is forced, it still feels good to not be serious for a while. He clasps an arm around my shoulder affectionately and tells me not to worry, he was sure I'd be remembered for more than that. I told him then that now he'd smell like roses too, since his arm was around me. He laughed, and we did a bit where we took turns sniffing each other, which the audience absolutely loves.

I figure my interview must be almost over by now, and am about to bring up the subject myself when, thankfully, Caesar asks, "So, Peeta. Do you have a nice young lady waiting for you back home?"

I bite my lip and try to look a little pained as I shake my head.

"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" says Caesar.

With a deep sigh, I respond. "Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping." This is the one part of the interview where I completely telling the truth, and I feel very vulnerable.

Still, this is popular with the crowd. They can relate to my unrequited love. "She have another fellow?" asks Caesar sympathetically. I can't help that irrational flare of jealousy as I remember Gale helping Katniss onto the stage at the reaping.

"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her," I reply. I chance a quick glance at Katniss, and she how shocked she looks. I was glad it wasn't just me she hadn't noticed, but boys—except Gale—in general. She just didn't see herself as someone they would feel attracted too. But I knew them and I heard the way they talked about her.

"So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" Caesar smiles, proud of himself that he has solved this problem for me.

"I don't think it's going to work out. Winning…won't help in my case." No. It would only destroy everything I've ever loved.

"Why ever not?" he asks, astounded.

I take a deep breath, and to the everlasting credit of my acting talent, a blush climbs to my cheeks. I'm about to say the words that are going to change everything, and I have to say them right. I wish somehow there was a way I could say them that would get Katniss to believe them, too, but I guess the most I can hope for is for the Capitol believe them and see her as I see her. Someone worth saving.

"Because…" I stammer, "Because…she came here with me."

There is a moment of shock before everything explodes. The crowd erupts in sounds of despair. The cameras all focus on Katniss, but I refuse to let myself look at her. I don't want to see the expression on her face. I don't want to see the confirmation of my fears, that my love really is completely and helplessly unrequited. Instead, I focus on the ground in front of me, looking heartbroken. Caesar grips my shoulder tightly.

"Oh, that is a piece of bad luck," he says, sounding legitimately pained.

"It's not good," I choke out.

"Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady." I nod in agreement, her face flashing before my eyes. "She didn't know?"

"Not until now."

Caesar turns toward the audience, his grip on my arm still tight. "Wouldn't you love to pull her back out here and get a response?" I look up suddenly. Can they do that? The screams of the audience begging for just that seem to think so. "Sadly, rules are rules, and Katniss Everdeen's time has been spent." I breathe a sigh. I'm not sure if it's from disappointment or relief, though. "Well, best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours."

I give a wave as I depart the stage, and the crowd cries out in a deafening din. I can feel the glares of the other tributes as I make my way past them. They don't like the sensation I have caused, for it has wiped their interviews completely from the minds of the viewers. I don't get to see what Katniss thinks, though, for we are separated by a few feet that seem like the expanse of the world.

When we are finally back into the Training Center, on the twelfth floor, Katniss and I are finally alone. I noticed how she avoided me purposefully on our way back, but I hadn't expected her reaction when I stepped out of the elevator car. I barely had found her face when she shoves me with all her might, her fists slamming into my chest. For such a petite person she is sure strong, and I stagger back and crash into a vase filled with fake flowers. I kneel on the ground where I fell, gasping for breath and looking at my hands, which are now bleeding profusely from the glass shards I had landed on.

"What was that for?" I demand.

"You had no right!" she shouts, furious. "No right to go saying those things about me!" I know it's stupid, but I can't help feeling a little hurt. I had expected all along that she wouldn't return my feelings, but the heart can be quite stupid, and her rage is piercing.

I'm saved the trouble of replying, for which I am grateful because I don't know if I could force out words without betraying my emotion, because at that moment the elevator opens again. Effie, Haymitch, Cinna and Portia walk out.

"What's going on?" Effie asks, aghast. "Did you fall?" She rushes over to me and with the help of Cinna lift me to my feet. I try to avoid getting blood on her pristine suit, but don't entirely succeed.

"After she shoved me," I say gruffly.

"Shoved him?" Haymitch whips around toward Katniss, a dangerous edge in his voice.

"This was your idea, wasn't it?" she demands, slightly hysterical. "Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country?"

Ah, so this is what she thought. "It was my idea," I reply casually as I pull out the pottery from my lacerated hands. "Haymitch just helped me with it."

"Yes, Haymitch is very helpful. To you!" she cries, still not understanding what I am trying to do for her.

"You _are _a fool," Haymitch replies disgustedly, and despite the fact that I've just been injured the night before the Games thanks to Katniss, I want to ask him to refrain from behind so harsh. "Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own."  
"He made me look weak!"

"He made you look desirable!" Haymitch had helped me refine this one particular point. What I had really been trying to do was show t he Capitol my love for her so they could forgive me for what I would do in the Arena. Also, I couldn't bear the thought of her never knowing. Haymitch, who I suspected already knew my plan to keep her alive, had supplemented the appeal by saying that when I confessed my love, the Capitol wouldn't be able to keep from loving her, too, and she would get more sponsors. "And let's face it," he continued, "you can use all the help you an get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!"

_Star-crossed_. That one word takes all my dreams and tears them to shreds. She can't be mine unless there is no possible way it could last.

"But we're not star-crossed lovers!" she protests. Again, a stab of pain shoots through me.

"Who cares?" Haymitch insists, pinning her to the wall. I take a step forward to keep him from hurting her, but Cinna holds me back. "It's all a big show. It's all how you're perceived." Haymitch's words ring undeniably true. "The most I could say about you after your interview was that you were nice enough, although that in itself was a small miracle. Now I can say you're a heartbreaker." Yes, she is, and it's my heart that's breaking. Breaking as surely and as quickly as my life would soon end. At least I wouldn't have to deal with the pain of that. I'd be long dead before she could tell me in so many words that she doesn't feel the same way. "Oh, oh, oh, how the boys back home fall longingly at your feet. Which do you think will get you more sponsors?"

She shoves Haymitch a way, looking slightly disgusted, but mollified.

Cinna leaves my side to go to her. "He's right, Katniss."

She doesn't look convinced. "I should have been told, so I didn't look so stupid." I smile at her stubbornness.

"No, your reaction was perfect. If you'd known, it wouldn't have read as real."

I say the one thing that has been weighing on my mind ever since she reacted so poorly to my revelation. "She's just worried about her boyfriend." I toss away the vase in anger.

She blushed, basically solidifying what I had thought, and replied fiercely, "I don't have a boyfriend."

"Whatever," I say, trying to pass as nonchalant. After all, the Games are all about appearances. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it. Besides, _you _didn't say you loved _me_. So what does it matter?"

I'm contradicting myself inside my head. It matters because now I know her feelings, and I know they aren't he same. It doesn't change how anything will turn out, and it doesn't change how I feel about her in the slightest. It just hurts. It eclipses the sting of my hands, or the ache where her fists made contact with my chest. More than the fact that I'll never go back to District Twelve. More than my impending death by some child forced into this as I was.

Katniss turns to Portia, the only one who can be really objective in this. "After he said he loved me, did you think I could be in love with him too?" All the fury is gone from her voice, and she sounds like a lost child.

"I did," Portia says kindly, "The way you avoided looking at the cameras, the blush."

"You're golden, sweetheart." Haymitch adds. "You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block."

She turns to me, not quite meeting my gaze. "I'm sorry I shoved you."

I shrug, merely just to have something other to do with my arms than wrap her in them. "Doesn't matter," I reply. "Although it's technically illegal."  
"Are your hands okay?"

"They'll be all right." Yes, my hands will heal, eventually. But my heart? That was unlikely.

Later that night, I sat on my bed staring blankly at the wall in front of me, when the door opened with a gentle breeze. An Avox walks in, carrying a container of something. She has a pleasant face, rather plump with white-blonde hair pulled back tightly. There re lines around her eyes and on her forehead, but still she smiles at me as she walks toward me. She gestures toward the container and then picks up my hands, running a callused finger over the scabs that have already formed.

I understand her meaning. She wants to heal my hands with some special concoction of the Capitol's. With a sharp gesture I pull my hands out of her grasp. "No!" I say hurriedly. She gives me a questioning glance. _Why? _She mimes.

"Because…" I can't really explain to her. Why shouldn't I want her to heal my injury? I suppose it's just that…it seems like nothing is left to me anymore. My heart is one hundred percent Katniss', and I don't begrudge her that, for that's the nature of my love. But my mind doesn't belong to me anymore, either, for I can't ever speak the things I wish because of the implications they could have to the Capitol and Katniss. My body has already been shaped into some sort of model of the Capitol, and I just don't want to give them this last piece of myself. Growing up with two older brothers, I'd always treasured my injuries as a way to prove how tough I was. They would have laughed at me for submitting to an easy way out of pain.

I've already lost so much, and I'm petrified of losing myself in these games. These scars remind me of who I am, and where I come from. I don't come from the life where injuries can be healed by a simple ointment, and I'm glad I don't. The Avox woman obviously doesn't understand, since I can't voice at all how I am feeling to her. She smiles at me as if to say _It's okay_, and proceeds to heal my hands. I watch her in horror and fascination as my skin bubbles up and smooths out.

I sigh in resignation. Perhaps this was the truth of the matter, I think as I leave my room and head out to the roof. Perhaps there is simply no way to remain unchanged by this. I've watched tributes go from demure children to horrifying killing machines. I can only hope my fate isn't like that.

I've already accepted my death. There is no part in me wishing or hoping to survive. Instead, my last wish is simply to die as myself. I want to die as the boy with the bread, not the boy who was on fire.


	6. Careers

Careers

**OK so this ended up not being any shorter. My apologies, I guess I have a lot to say. Here's a tip to fellow writers...Don't write two stories simultaneously if one is in present and one in past!** **I have a Harry Potter story going using past tense, and I was switching back and forth a lot, so please forgive any errors. **

**I'm going to a Mockingjay release party tonight! Anyone else? Can't wait...I'll be up til 4 reading. It's time to ask...Peeta or Gale? Obviously I prefer Peeta, but I've gotten a bunch of reviews that say "Though I don't like Peeta..." so now I'm curious. Who do you prefer? **

**Read and review as always. Feedback's been great, you are all amazing!  
**

I gasp, clutching at the stitch in my side. How long have I been running now, and at what pace? Still, I haven't caught up to them. It has been hours now since we'd gotten into the arena. I'd spent quite a while at the Cornucopia, right in the thick of the fight. I'm glad I told Katniss to go. I'm pretty sure I was directly responsible for the death of two tributes. The thought of it makes me want to lay die right here and join them, but the thought of her keeps me going.

Finally, I hear voices ahead of me, barely audible through the dense foliage of the forest. I slow my pace down, trying to decide what the best way to approach this is. I have to do it just right, otherwise they won't give me a chance to speak before they kill me.

"Well, I think we've got just about everyone for tonight," a male voice says.

A much deeper, gruffer voice answers, "We only found two after the Cornucopia." He sounds aggravated.

"We'll find the rest tomorrow. The rest are too scared to do anything but hide out tonight," a different voice soothes.

"I hear something," a girl's voice says. "Cato, go see what it is."

"Relax, Glimmer," he replies. "Everyone at the Cornucopia was pretty beat up. No one else could've kept up with us with their injuries—that we inflicted," he adds wickedly.

I smile humorlessly. I could already feel my face swelling up, and I'd gotten cut and bruised in several places. He's almost right that no one could've kept up with them. Me being the one exception.

"Seriously!" she persists. "I hear someone breathing!"

"Fine, fine!" he acquiesces, irritated. "Toss me the sword. Wait—on second thought I'll grab it myself."

"I'm not gonna kill you—yet." Cato laughs at the girl—Glimmer's—response. I hear twigs snapping under the heavy foot of the tribute from District 2.

"Come out, come out, where ever you are," he calls.

I finger the knife I have in my hands. I'd wanted the lot of them enough to kill another person for them. I get a solid grip on it, then fling it in Cato's direction. I was confident in my aim enough to know it wouldn't hit him, but not sure exactly where it would land. Mercifully, it buried itself in a tree about six inches from his head.

"If I wanted that to kill you, it would've," I state, still hidden behind a large tree.

"Alright, who's there?" he calls out angrily, brandishing his sword.

"I'll come out, if you promise not to kill me."

He pauses. "I promise."

I laugh. "I don't believe you, Cato. Put down your weapon." I remember seeing Cato around the training area, and though he was massive, I'm fairly certain I can hold my own in hand-to-hand combat, if it comes to that.

"No."

"I have more knives where that one came from," I warn.

"Exactly! What guarantee do I have that you won't kill me?"

"Because if I wanted to, you'd be dead already. I know where you are, but you don't know where I am. Now put down your sword and let's talk."

Cato sighs and lowers his sword, bringing up his fists instead. He turns slowly in a circle, and when he is facing me, I step out. He shouts in surprise, but makes no move to attack me.

"_Lover Boy_?" he asks incredulously.

Again, I laugh. "That's a nickname. Not particularly imposing, but I suppose people will remember me for it."

"What do you want?" he demands. "You've got about ten seconds before I take you out, sword or no sword."

"I want to join the Careers."

"District 12? With the Careers? Yeah, right. Why would you want to? And what makes you think we'd even take you?"

"Better chance of surviving with you guys," I shrug. "I'm strong, you've seen what I can do with a knife. You'll be no worse off if I'm with you, and probably better."

Cato observes me for a moment, the way a jeweler might appraise a gem. I can practically hear the gears whirring in his head as he weighs the pros and cons. I'm praying the pros win out.

"You know I'll kill you eventually," he says.

I grin. "Not if I kill you first."

Cato gives a barking laugh, then turns abruptly and strides into the foliage. "Follow me," he calls over his shoulder.

I emerge a few moments behind him, startled to find myself in a clearing of sorts, surrounded by six other people.

"Cato, what've you _done_?" one of them, a rather pretty girl, protests angrily.

"Relax, Clove. He knows how this is going to go. And for now he could be useful." He gives her a significant look, and I feel a twist in the pit of my stomach, for I'm fairly certain I know what he means. He thinks I can lead them to Katniss. I take in a deep breath, for my acting talents are going to have to be infallible for me to do the exact opposite of that.

"Right. This is Clove, District 2 like me. Glimmer and Zayn from 1. Cordelia from 4. We'll rest here tonight, then head back to the Cornucopia and set up camp. It's the best spot, and if anyone else is there, they don't stand a chance against us." The others nodded in agreement. I don't know if it's because they genuinely agreed with him or because they feared the glinting sword in his hand.

"I'll take first watch," I offer. There's something I desperately need to do, to ensure Katniss' safety and the audience's belief in my intention.

"I don't think we trust you enough for that, Lover Boy. Clove," he says, jerking his head toward the girl. "You stay up with him. Keep a weapon nearby," he whispers in a clearly audible undertone.

I try to give her a friendly smile, but she just sneers at me and goes to it by the opening where Cato came in through. I join her as the others pull out sleeping bags and other luxuries they raided from the Cornucopia and settle down to sleep. I wait until I hear five separate sets of snores before I begin. I need Clove to sleep too, so I start humming. A simple, sweet lullaby that we sing to babies back in District 12. I'm hoping that possibly it will work with her, too, and she'll unconsciously drift to sleep. Five minutes is all I need.

"What are you doing?" she asks, annoyed.

"Oh, er, just humming. Reminder of home, you know?"

She sneers and turns away from me. I sigh. So that plan didn't work. "You know, I'm really starting to miss home. I didn't think I would, but I really miss the bakery. There's something so…satisfying about baking bread." She's paying me no attention, which I'm hoping bodes well for me. If I can't sing her to sleep, perhaps I can bore her enough to.

"See, you start with just ingredients. Flour, butter, maybe some herbs. Stuff like that. Then you have to mix them all together…" I go on in detail to describe the intricate process of breadmaking, trying to keep my voice low and soothing. I'm just beginning to explain how you can tell when the bread is done by the perfect golden brown shade of the crust when I finally hear her breath even out. I look over and her head is resting on her hand, her eyes closed. Fast asleep.

"At last," I mutter, and walk carefully to the other end of the clearing. "Katniss," I whisper, coming to rest on a large rock, far enough away from the rest of them that I won't disturb them.

"I'm sorry," I breathe. "I'm doing this for you. I'll never let them find you. I'll die first, I promise." I'm talking to no one. I'm not delusional, I know there's no way she can hear me. But that doesn't make what I have to say any less important. I mean every word of it, and maybe someday she'll watch this and actually believe how much she meant to me. But, and more importantly at this moment, I also know that it is imperative to make sure the audience knows I still love her. That's what's going to keep her alive.

"I have a plan, Katniss. Just hold out a couple of days. I'll make sure you get back to Prim, and your mom." I take in a deep breath. "I love you."

The anthem sounds, and the faces of the dead tributes are illuminated in the sky. I haven't allow myself to think of the worst possibility yet, but now in the agonizing moments before my worst fear could be realized, the thought seems to be screaming in my head. I watch their faces appear and disappear, the District number climbing steadily higher. The girl from District 10's face appears, and I hold my breath in terror and anticipation.

It's over.

I exhale in relief. Of course she's alive! How could I have doubted her? She much more equipped for this sort of thing than I am. She's smart and has experience in the woods. She won't let anyone kill her, and I won't let anyone get a chance.

A few hours later I shake Cato awake as he instructed me to, and he gets up to take my post. He is furious when he finds that Clove fell asleep on watch, but at least now he has some small trust in me. I'm just about to lay down in the warm, plush sleeping bag when Cato calls out.

"Fire! I see a fire!" He rushes over to rouse the other Careers, and I struggle to get myself out of my warm resting place. I'm exhausted, but it looks like I won't be getting any sleep tonight.

"Come on!" he hollers, somehow managing to shout while still keeping his voice at a whisper. We trudge through the forest, following Cato and Glimmer, who are wearing goggles that allow them to see in the dark.

We find the fire easily, and the girl with it. The poor thing is huddled around the flames, shivering profusely. She was bound to die either way, for the cold night air without a jacket surely would've led to hypothermia. I try to let this thought comfort me, but it doesn't help in the slightest.

Cato runs in—out of the Careers he has the most thirst for bloodshed. She hears his footsteps and begins to scream. "No, please! No! Don't! I—" Her last word is cut off by Cato's sword slashing across her torso.

"Twelve down, eleven to go!" he shouts, and the other Careers clap appreciatively. I join in, but really I'm just feeling sick to my stomach. "Search the packs," he adds.

We all rummage through her bags, finding only a couple packs of crackers, some matches, and a small knife. "Looks like we did her a favor," Glimmer says. "If that's all she had she would've died sooner or later. We just helped her along." They laugh.

"Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking." Cato responds. He whips out his flashlight and leads the way into a clearing, then pauses. "Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?"

"I'd say yes," Zayn replies. "Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately."

"Unless she isn't dead."

"She's dead. I stuck her myself."

"Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done," Clove argues.

"Yeah, we don't want to track her down twice."

"I said she's dead!" Cato is offended by their lack in his killing abilities, and the result is a very loud argument that is quickly going to attract attention. I don't think I can deal with any more death tonight so I call over the din, "We're wasting time! I'll go and finish her and let's move on!"

I hear some rustling above me but attribute it to squirrels as Cato responds, "Go on, then, Lover Boy. See for yourself."

I head back through the woods, torch illuminating just a few feet ahead of me, to where we left the girl. She's curled into a ball on the ground, her breathing shallow. She's not long for this planet, I can tell. Still, I want to ease her passing in some way or another. I kneel down beside her and stroke her hair. Her eyes grow wide and frightened as she recognizes me from the Careers.

"No…more…pain," she whispers through gritted teeth.

"Shh," I soothe. "Everything's going to be okay. You've been so brave."

"I want…to go…home," she cries, tears spilling down her young cheeks.

"I know, sweetie. I know. But it's not so bad, where you're going. I'm sure you'll know some people." I have no clue what I'm speaking of right now. We don't really have much concept of Heaven or Hell in District 12. We don't think much about the afterlife because this life is full of so many struggles.

Her eyes lock in on mine. "Make it stop," she pleads.

I take a deep breath, trying to harden my heart against the pain that is going to come with her death. Then, as gently as I know how, I carefully slit her throat. She exhales in surprise, then is silent. I take a step back, say a quiet goodbye, and turn to head back.

"Was she dead?" Cato asks as soon as I'm in sight.

"No. But she is now." A cannon fire affirms my claim. "Ready to move on?"

The next day or two go fine. We have food and shelter, weapons and other tools to keep us safe. Compared to the others, we're living quite luxuriously, and if it weren't for the fact that I hate each and every one of them with every fiber of my being, I might even say I could be quite happy.

The fire was a nasty surprise, though. We are badly burned now, and my throat still feels like I'm inhaling smoke with every breath. We are trekking through the forest, not taking much care to keep quiet, when suddenly there is a scuffling ahead of us.

"Tribute!" Cato calls hoarsely, and we pick up our pace. It's tough because we are all in pretty bad shape. As we make our way closer to the source of the noise, we catch sight of a small figure darting up a tree.

_Katniss_.

I want to fall to my knees in despair. All my efforts to keep them away from her have failed. I was so sure that she was far away from us! It must have been the fire, meant to drive us together. My only consolation is that she is clearly adept at climbing trees. By the time we reach the base of her tree, she's at least twenty feet up.

My heart breaks to see her. She's covered in cuts and bruises and, from what I can see from the ground, severely burned. Still, she smiles at us. This frightens me, for it's not the smile I remember. This is the smile of a girl who has been changed by the arena. "How's everything with you?" she calls down.

The rest of the Careers look around at each other, startled by her cheerful tone. "Well enough," Cato responds. "Yourself?"

"It's a bit warm for my taste," she says dryly, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?" I know there's no way hulking Cato will be able to make it up the tree as far as she has, but still I cannot help the absolute terror in the pit of my stomach as he secures his sword and begins to try.

Cato gets maybe ten feet up and then a branch cracks under his immense weight and he comes tumbling to the ground, swearing. Glimmer tries to shoot an arrow at her, but by this time Katniss is fifty feet up and Glimmer has terrible aim. Katniss grabs the arrow and waves it at her, as if saying thank you, making Glimmer shriek in rage.

Again, everyone begins arguing. Mad at Katniss for making them look like fools. How they can get up there. How they can get her down. How they can kill her. It's all about her. Eventually, I sense everyone is frustrated enough that I can get them to just leave her alone tonight. "Oh, let her stay up there. It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning." They agree, if reluctantly, and at least I've bought her some time and rest.

"Fine," Cato grunts. "Glimmer, take first guard duty. The rest of us, get some sleep. We got some climbing to do tomorrow."

"I'm _tired_, Cato!" whines Glimmer.

"Shut it, and if you fall asleep on duty, I'll personally make sure you won't wake up."

I think he sounds menacing, but apparently Glimmer thinks it's an empty threat because she when leans up against Katniss' tree, her eyes are already drifting shut.

It seems like I've just fallen to sleep when suddenly I hear loud, threatening buzzing in my ears and feel something sting me. My eyes fly open. _Tracker jackers. _I remember the stories about them, and do the only thing that makes sense. I bolt. I don't look back, hoping that the others didn't react so fast, but I hear Cato behind me. "To the lake!" he calls.

I dive into the water, and all of the pursuing tracker jackers abandon me. I'm feeling exceedingly lucky that I've only been stung once under the ear. I spend some time in the water, making sure none of the things are anywhere nearby. Cato, Clove and Zayn have all made it, too, but Cordelia and Glimmer are nowhere to be found. Guess they weren't fast enough.

Even though I hated both of them, this would have been a horrible way to die. Even from my one small sting the pain is almost unbearable, and I'm feeling dizzy. Still, I swim to the edge and climb out of the lake. I ignore Cato's calls asking where I'm going and sprint back toward the clearing. I need to make sure she's okay. I hear Cato behind me and push my legs as fast as I can. If she's still there I need to get there first.

And, just as I feared, there she is. She looks like she's tried to load her bow, but couldn't quite manage it. She stares at me in shock, mirrored on my own face. _What is she still doing?_

She closes her eyes, as if waiting for the end. "What are you still doing here?" I ask, aloud this time. Her eyes snap open, but she just stares at me. "Are you mad?" I want to shake her and somehow make her understand the danger she's in. I flip the spear in my hand around and prod her with the shaft. "Get up! Get up!" I scream. She's moving too slow! I can hear Cato in the brush now, closing the distance between us. "Run! Run!" My screams crack in my desperation for her to move.

Cato slashes his way toward us, and the sight of him seems to finally have awoken her. She bolts, holding onto the bow and arrow I assume she took from Glimmer's body.

"I told you I'd kill you, Love Boy," he says, snarling fiercely. He's holding his sword out, and I know my spear is no match for it.

"Fine, do it," I egg him on. He lunges at me, and I barely manage to sidestep him. He stumbles forward and I hurl my spear at him. Ordinarily, I would have hit him and this whole fight would have been over, but the venom is making my arms shake, and I miss him.

He laughs and lunges at me again, this time his sword finds its mark. My vision blackens as I feel the searing pain in my leg. I fall forward, waiting for the killing blow, but Cato merely laughs.

"I think a slow death would do you good, Lover Boy," he says vindictively. "Maybe this way you'll get to her the canon for Lover Girl." He kicks me as he passes, and then he's gone.

I barely have the strength to drag myself to the river. I grit my teeth and try not to focus on the blood I'm losing as I cover myself with mud and leaves. The world around me is steadily getting blurrier, and I'm losing a grip on reality. When I'm satisfied with my camouflage, I close my eyes.

I imagine I'm back in District 12, sitting in the bakery. The smell of bread fills the entire room, and I'm busy decorating a fabulous cake. My father sits, reading to me from his favorite book of poetry. My mother is nowhere to be found.

And Katniss is there.

I don't normally allow myself to think of her this way. I figure it's pointless to torture myself this way, but since I'm dying, I'll allow just this once. She's with me, and that's all I need. Her face is the last thing I see before the darkness completely consumes me.

The last thing I see, presumably forever.


	7. Found  Part One

Found-Part One

**So...my estimation of being finished by October was a ways off. My apologies. I had a lot of trouble with this chapter, because there were a bunch of things I wanted to include over a very large expanse of pages. I also didn't want to do too much copying of direct dialogue from the book. So i decided to split this chapter into 2 parts. Part 2 should be up soon. **

**Thank you all for your incredible feedback, hope I can live up to your expectations!  
**

Apparently there's no mercy for the dying. My passing is not quick, as I would've hoped. Instead, it's long, and drawn out. I lie there, unable to move, even to get food or drink, other than the trickle of water that occasionally manages to reach my mouth from the stream. I don't even have the strength to finish off my own life, which would spare me from who knows how many hours of suffering.

I'm just about to try to reach something—_anything_—I could use as a weapon against myself when Cladius Templesmith's voice rings out throughout the arena.

"Ladies and gentleman, congratulations on making it to the final six!" he says. I mentally tick off who's left. Me, Katniss—I've somehow managed to stay conscious enough to watch the sky and make sure she's still alive—Cato, Clove, Thresh, and the red-haired girl. "In an unprecedented move, there has been a rule change in the Games this year!" he calls out excitedly. "Should both tributes from the same district survive, they will both be declared winners!" He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in. "Yes, that's right. Both tributes from the same district will be declared winners!" And then he's gone.

The words barely register in my head. Too many days without food has left me confused and disoriented. But even in my current state I understand the significance of what Cladius has just said. _Two victors! _I still think there isn't much chance left for my survival, but still, the slight hope that flickers in the core of me keeps me holding on, at least for a few more hours. Until she can find me.

And I know she will. Probably mostly out of duty, but still, there is one tiny part of me that believes maybe out of genuine feeling. I'm not deluding myself into thinking she feels as strongly as I do for her. Not by a long shot. But maybe…maybe she feels just enough to...to what? I'm not even sure what I want. I guess I just want her, whatever form she comes. Even if she comes, bow in her hand, ready to kill me, at least she'll be here.

"Katniss," I whisper, voice hoarse from lack of use. My eyes drift shut and a smile creeps to my face as she appears in my minds eye.

I've lost all sense of time. It could have been hours or minutes since I last fell asleep, but before I know it I hear someone walking nearby, and a lovely, familiar voice calling out, "Peeta! Peeta!" in a hushed voice.

I wait a few seconds, and her footsteps get closer. "You here to finish me off, sweetheart?" I grimace at my own voice. It sounds so weak, not at all the impression I would want her to have of me. I close my eyes as she whips around, searching for me, making my camouflage complete once again.

"Peeta?" she whispers. "Where are you? Peeta?" Her voice is confused and desperate as she creeps forward along the bank of the river, dangerously close to my head.

"Well, don't step on me." I open my eyes, finally revealing my hiding place, and she gasps and stumbles backward. I laugh at the sight of her. How funny that after everything we've gone through, this could startle her.

"Closer your eyes again," she demands, and I do. I hear her kneel down beside me, so close and can feel the warmth radiating off her body. "I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off."

"Yes, frosting," I say with an easy going smile. "The final defense of the dying."

Her eyebrows contract, looking concerned. But she tells me resolutely, "You're not going to die."

"Says who?"

"Says me. We're on the same team now, you know." My eyes fly open, for her comment ignites the tiny spark of hope inside me that had all but died out.

"So I heard," I say with a smile, trying to pass off for nonchalant. "Nice of you to find what's left of me."

Her face instantly grows concerned, and she pulls out her water and offers me a drink. "Did Cato cut you?"

"Left leg. Up high." I try not to allow any hint of pain color my voice. No point in frightening her now.

"Let's get you in the stream, wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you've got," she says with the practicality of a healer's daughter. Still, I catch a hint of unease in her voice.

"Lean down a minute first," I say with a roguish smile. "Need to tell you something." She leans down close, her deep hair brushing against my cheek. "Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it." I'm trying to get her to smile, because she looks so serious and concerned. Still, her laugh is so true that I can't help but feel a swooping sensation in my stomach.

"Thanks, I'll keep it in mind," she responds, leaving my chest still filled up with hope. At least it wasn't a no.

The mood was considerably lightened, until she tries to help me to the stream. I'm so weak from my wounds and lack of food that I can barely manage to raise a finger, let alone my entire body. The stream is only a few feet away, but it seems like miles as I watch her futilely try to drag me. I'm not even strong enough to resist crying out, and at every jerk of my leg I can't muffle a cry of pain.

She bites her lip, looking honestly concerned for my pain. Such a difference from just a few days ago, when she pushed me with every ounce of anger she had without regret. "Look, Peeta, I'm going to roll you into the stream. It's very shallow here, okay?"

"Excellent," I reply, trying to disguise the dismay in my voice. I try my best to keep quiet, but it seems impossible. Grotesque sounds of pain escape my throat, and I'm ashamed that I'm not stronger. She's trying so hard, and I know none of this is easy for her. Why can't I just keep quiet?

She stops rolling me and instead and gets to works cleaning me up. I try to control my expression, but I can't help the shiver that runs up my spine each time she touches me. She cuts away my mud-plastered clothes and gently washes the dirt off me, and applies medicine unknown to me on my various and numerous injuries.

"Swallow these," she orders, and I don't even question what they are before I swallow them. "You must be hungry," she adds.

I reply noncommittally and turn away when she offers me some meat. In fact, I haven't been hungry for a long time. When I tell her this, a crease forms between her eyebrows, but she doesn't say anything. Finally I eat a few bites of apple just to appease her, but the worry still shadows her brow.

"Can I sleep now?" I ask, almost begging.

"Soon. I need to look at your leg first."

She cuts away the fabric around my wound and I see her gag quickly before composing her features. I pity her, ironically. I know her feeble—yet well-meant—attempts to clean and heal my leg are worthless in the long run. Still, her determination gives me hope. Not for my life, which I'm fairly certain is in numbered days, despite her help. No, her struggle to heal my leg is pointless. But her efforts are doing much to heal my heart.

"Katniss?" I whisper, distracting her from her confusion over how next to progress with my leg. She looks up at me, brown eyes clouded with despair. "How about that kiss?" I ask with what I hope is a winning smile.

She stares at me for a moment, and then starts laughing hysterically. Though I know in a way she is laughing at me, I'm not offended. Our situation calls for irrational behavior.

"Something wrong?" I ask innocently.

"I…I'm no good at this. I'm not my mother. I've no idea what I'm doing and I hate pus. Euh!"

I laugh and tease her a bit as she works. I've no fear of death while she is with me, though I know my odds aren't good. But truthfully, I'd rather die next to her than live anywhere without her.

I doze off, once again with visions of Katniss floating before my eyes. It feels like mere seconds before she is shaking me awake again, and my imagination merges with reality. "Peeta," I hear, "We've got to go now."

"Go? Go where?"

"Away from here. Downstream maybe. Somewhere we can hide you until you're stronger." With her help I dress and stand, but the second I put weight onto my injured leg it's all I can do not to scream. "Come on, you can do this," she urges. I bite my lip and shut my eyes tight, relying on her completely for guidance. Each step is the deepest physical agony I have ever felt, and before long I feel close to blacking out.

She sits me down on the ground and pats me briefly on the back. Such is my pain that my nerves don't even register that it's Katniss touching me. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, trying to keep conscious.

Katniss gets me situated in her sleeping bag in a cave she found. I accept the water and pills she's offer, but the thought of any food is nauseating. I try to calculate how long it's been since I've had any real sustenance, and attribute much of my weakness to that.

"Katniss," I say relishing the feeling of her fingers brushing my hair out of my eyes in answer. "Thanks for finding me."

"You would have found me if you could." She has no idea how true that is. I would've done anything to reach her. The fact that she had risked so much to find me and despite my vulnerability stuck with me had made all my sacrifices for her worthwhile. I realize that if I am to die soon, I need her to have no doubts about how I feel for her, and what I would do, and have done, for her. And I need to know, if I am to die, if she feels even remotely about me the way I do about her.

"Yes. Look, if I don't make it back—"

"Don't talk like that," she interrupts me fiercely, but I can hear the fear in her voice. "I didn't drain all that pus for nothing."

"I know. But just in case I don't - "

"No, Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it," she says, placing her fingers over my lips to hush my protests.

"But I - "

Out of nowhere, she kisses me, successfully halting the words I had carefully formulated. Her lips are cracked from days of scarce water and the harsh elements of the arena. She tastes of sweat and ashes, and I can feel the slightest wetness on her cheek, perhaps from a tear. In all my fantasies, I had never imagined our first kiss to be anything like this. But it is all the magical for that.

Too quickly, though, she pulls away. "You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?"

"All right," I respond dazedly. And I know that, at least tonight, I will not die, if just to get one last kiss.


	8. Found Part Two

Found-Part Two

**Wow! I'm at a loss for the response to the last chapter. So many reviews, faves and alerts. I can't thank you all enough. I really love writing this story, and it's great knowing that other people are enjoying my hard work. Sadly, there are only two more chapters left! Would anyone be interested in reading a Catching Fire version? This has been so much fun to write, and I think there are a lot of great moments in the next books, but I don't want to be repetitive or drag it on too long.  
**

**Please read, enjoy, review! Thanks again :)  
**

I finally doze off, but it seems like just moments later when I hear Katniss' voice calling out sweetly. "Peeta!" Too exhausted to open my eyes, I continue to lie there, though the tone of her voice has sent a swooping sensation through my stomach. I hear her soft footsteps approach as she throws herself down beside me and gently kisses me again.

I'm startled, but I respond with enthusiasm that outreached the strength I thought I had left. When she pulls back, I simply gaze at her, completely in awe. Can this be possible? Can she actually feel the same way for me as I for her?

"Peeta," she says, holding out a pot of something. "Look what Haymitch has sent you."

She pulls off the lid and a savory aroma wafts out. Just the smell is richer and—under any other circumstance—more enticing than anything I've eaten in days. However, given my current state, the smell nearly makes me gag. Still, she looks so happy that I try to at least pull a smile. Apparently it looks more like a grimace, because Katniss frowns too.

"You have to eat, Peeta," she states firmly.

"I will, later. You go ahead and eat your fill first."

"I ate while you were sleeping." Her attempt at a lie falls flat, but I ignore it anyway. "Please?" she adds.

I give a shrug and prop myself up better against the wall. Katniss brings over the broth and puts it too my lips. I take it from her, not quite desperate enough yet that I need to be hand fed like an infant. With a loud slurp to for added effect, I take the smallest sip possibly, hoping to fool her. I hand back the broth, saying how good it tastes, and she peers inside.

"Peeta, you hardly had any!" she cries, dismayed.

"No, no. It just looks like that. I'm full now, seriously."

"It's only going to make things worse if you don't eat. You're already weak, please don't make yourself any weaker. Just eat half? Please?" There's a definite begging tone to her voice now. Once again I take the broth and this time take at least a noticeable sip before handing it back.

Once again, though, Katniss is not satisfied. "Fine," she says angrily. "Don't eat it. See if I care. Just don't expect anything more from me." She stalks off to the opposite corner of the cave, leaving the broth just within my reach. She keeps her back to me, rigid in anger, but every once in a while I catch her glancing at me to see if I've taken the bait.

On about the tenth time she turns around I call out to her. "Katniss," I say, but she turns away again too quickly. "Katniss, I'm sorry," I call, my voice genuinely apologetic. I hate that she's mad at me, even if I think it's for a stupid reason. "Come here," I say, making room on the sleeping bag next to me. I'm thrilled when she does, our shoulders pressing together in the cramped space. I reach over and hold her hand as I turn to speak to her. "I'm sorry. I know you're risking a lot to be here. It means everything to me that you are." I lean in to kiss her, but she pulls back and shakes her head.

"Kisses are only for people who drink their broth," she says mischievously.

I raise an eyebrow at her, enjoying the complacent expression on her face. She's finally found a way to get what she wants. I sigh and reach for the broth and take a sizeable gulp and show it to her. She smiles at me and nods, and so finally I close the gap between us.

Heat radiates off her, contrasting with the cool night air. I wrap my fingers in her thick, tangled hair, binding us closer. Her hands flutter awkwardly at her side, and I'm reminded just how young she really is.

We play this game of eating and kissing for the next half hour, until the broth is gone and my heart is full, and I finally drift off to sleep.

My sleep is fitful, and I'm surrounded by a fever-induced haze. I slip in and out of consciousness, never quite sure what is reality and what isn't. Katniss is always there, appearing before me as if from a cloud. In moments of clarity I remember where we are and what we still have to do, but for the most part I just wonder what kind of heaven this is that she should always be there.

I finally slip into a deeper part of my mind where sleep no longer fully eludes me, and manage to drift into a long slumber. When I awake, I feel much better. The hallucinations from last night have ceased, and my grip on reality is strong. Though my leg still pains me greatly.

Even worse than my injury is the fact that no matter where I turn in our small hideout I cannot see Katniss. What if she has realized I am a burden that could cost her life, and left? Or even worse, what if she was found by another tribute? For whatever the pain I would feel if she left me could be nothing compared to that if I failed her, and she died.

I struggle to raise myself from the ground in an attempt to search for her when she walks back through the entrance of the cave and laughs at my pitiful efforts. "I woke up and you were gone. I was worried about you." I say, trying to camouflage the depth of my fear.

"You were worried about me? Have you taken a look at yourself lately?"

"I thought Cato and Clove might have found you. They like to hunt at night." She looks a little taken aback by my casual mention of the Careers and their habits, and I realize it's still strange for her to think that I teamed up with them.

"Clove? Which one is that?" she asks.

"The girl from District Two. She's still alive, right?" As much as it sickens me, I hope she answers negatively, because that would be just one step closer to taking Katniss home.

"Yes, there's just them and us and Thresh and Foxface. That's what I nicknamed the girl from Five. How do you feel?"

"Better than yesterday," I answer honestly. "This is an enormous improvement over the mud. Clean clothes and medicine and a sleeping bag…and you." She reaches out to touch my cheek at that remark, and I catch her hand and softly press it to my lips.

I look at her in anticipation, but she says firmly, "No more kisses until you've eaten." Again, I do as she asks and eat almost all she offers me.

I can't help but noticing how exhausted she looks. There are bags under her eyes and her shoulders are hunched. "You didn't sleep."

She shrugs. "I'm all right."

She's such a hypocrite, using the same excuse I had while trying to refrain from eating. "Sleep now," I insist. "I'll keep watch. I'll wake you if anything happens." She looks reluctant still, so I add, "Katniss, you can't stay up forever."

I can already see that I've won this argument, and she soon lays out a sleeping bag and lies on top of it. I sit next to her, and gently stroke her forehead. "Go to sleep," I whisper soothingly. Even in the middle of the strangest of circumstances, this feels so normal. Being next to her, caressing her, talking with her. It all feels _right_. Her breathing soon evens and slows, and I know she's fallen asleep, but I remain right where I am.

She's angry when she wakes up for letting her sleep so long, but it slowly dissipates and is replaced with worry when she takes another look at my leg. I don't look at my leg when she unwraps it; the pain and the expression on her face are enough to tell me that things are not good.

She swallows with difficulty, and I see the effort she takes to put on a brave face as she looks up at me in reassurance. "Well, there's more swelling, but the pus is gone."

"I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss. Even if my mother isn't a healer." She looks abashed for her lie, but also frightened.

"You're just going to have to outlast the others, Peeta. They'll cure it back at the Capitol when we win."

"Yes, that's a good plan," I say to appease her. But we both know that I don't have enough days left to outlast anyone.

She goes to make me more soup, for which I know I'll hardly eat. While I wait I recline on the sleeping bag and try to distract myself from the sharp pain in my leg and aching pain over the rest of my body. I'm having trouble focusing on anything at all, the pain is so intense.

Katniss returns quickly and lays cool towels on my head. They bring momentary relief, though too soon it too disappears. "Do you want anything else?" she asks, desperate for some way to be useful.

"No, thank you." I pause. "Wait, yes. Tell me a story."

"A story? What about?"

I think for a moment. "Something happy. Tell me about the happiest day you can remember."

She tells the story of how she got her sister Prim's goat, Lady. She omits some details, and from the pauses I can tell she is avoiding mentioning her common habit of illegal hunting, and some of the more condemning evidence against other members of District 12. Still, it's a charming story, and I'm reminded just how wrong most people's perception of Katniss is. She has such love in her, she's just been so crushed by the world. I know how much she loves her sister, even before this story which leaves absolutely no doubt about it. Gale, too, I know she loves. This hurts even more than it once did, for now I think she does—or at least could—love me too.

Still, I try to remind myself that it's me she's with now. Me, who she is risking her life for, and fighting so hard for. Me, who's hand and heart she holds. Me, who she kisses and cares for, worries about, and stays with. Through the Games we've shared an experience that Gale can never come close to. No one else has gone through what we have, and if I make it through this, I know it is something that will bind us forever.

"I can see why that day made you happy," I say when she's finished.

"Well, I knew that goat would be a little gold mine," she replies.

I roll my eyes in exasperation. "Yes, of course I was referring to that, not the lasting joy you save the sister you love so much you took her place in the reaping."

"The goat _has _paid for itself. Several times over," she says haughtily, still protesting.

"Well, it wouldn't dare to anything else after you saved its life. I intend to do the same thing." My reason for surviving is revealed. I will pay her back for everything she has done for me. Whatever it takes.

"Really? What did you cost me again?" She sounds genuinely serious, though I know she knows the risk she is putting herself in by staying with a worthless partner like me.

"A lot of trouble. Don't worry. You'll get it all back." My tongue feels heavy and my words are running together. Katniss looks worried and quickly reaches to feel my forehead. She tells me I'm not doing any worse, though I think she just doesn't want to worry me.

Just then, Claduius Templesmith's voice booms, announcing the feast I had forgotten about until now. However, there's an addition this year. "Each of you needs something desperately," his voice rings. "Each of you will find that something in a backpack marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you this will be your last chance."

My heart constricts in my chest as I see the plan formulate on Katniss' face. "No," I nearly shout, gripped her shoulder, hard. "You're not going to risk your life for me."

"Who said I was?"

"So you're not going?" I ask with a disbelieving look.

"Of course, I'm not going. Give me some credit. Do you think I'm running straight into some free-for-all against Cato and Clove and Thresh? Don't be stupid. I'll let them fight it out, we'll see who's in the sky tomorrow night and work out a plan from there."

I gaze at her intently for a moment. "You're such a bad liar, Katniss. I' don't know how you've survived this long." I mimic some of her worst lines so that she gets the point.

I succeed at least in making her mad, though that wasn't exactly my goal. "All right, I am going, and you can't stop me!"

"I can follow you. At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I'm yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I'll be dead for sure."  
I see the surprise flash on her face that I would go to that drastic a measure, but I remain firm. "You go an I'm going, too." I'm making her choose between two imminent deaths for me, but at least one way she won't die too.

"What am I supposed to do? Sit here and watch you die?" She's not crying, but I can hear the strain in her voice as she speaks.

"I won't die. I promise. If you promise not to go."

She reluctantly agrees, providing that I do exactly as she says. Thrilled with this turn of events, I enthusiastically agree. When she brings dinner I eat every last drop, feigning words of pleasure at the taste I can barely stomach. With every word out of my mouth she looks more nervous and eventually hands me another fever pill before heading outside.

When she returns, she looks much more at ease, and the smile on her face is a nice change from the creased eyebrows and worried eyes I was becoming used to.

"I brought you a treat," she says, offering me a small portion of berries.

I easily take a bite, still complying with our agreement. "They're very sweet."

"Yes, they're sugar berries. My mother makes jam from them. Haven't you ever had them before?" In between words she feeds me more, and my head starts swimming in confusion.

"No, but they taste familiar. Sugar berries?"

"Well, you can't get them in the market much, they only grow wild."

The bowl is almost empty. "They're sweet as syrup." My eyes grow wide as I finally realize what has happened. "Syrup." Sleep syrup! How could I have been so stupid? Haymitch must've helped her with that one. Lethargically I reach a hand into my mouth to try to force the contaminated berries back up, but it's already too late. Before I drift off to sleep I realize that all this time I have been willing to risk my life for her she was willing to risk her life for me too. I guess we really are the star-crossed lovers.

The bitterness of our story juxtaposes the still-sweet remnants of the berries.


	9. Berries

Berries

**Almost there! Thank you all for everything, your responses have been amazing. Please continue to review :)  
**

Katniss' hand trembles as she pulls back her arrow, her last arrow, mercifully aimed for Cato's head. There's a low whistle as it cuts through the air, until it finally meets its mark.

"Did you get him?" I ask shakily as I pull her back up from the brim of the horn. Before she has a chance to respond, a cannon fires, signaling the death of our last competitor. The last obstacle before we get to go home. "Then I guess we get to go home," I tell her, though the words don't bring the same joy I would have expected. After everything we have seen, I don't think we can ever truly go back.

The mutts disappear, sucked back into the earth, leaving no trace behind. Still, Cato's broken body remains on the ground, and no hovercraft appears to remove it. I can still feel Katniss trembling beside me, and I glance over at her to make sure she is okay. Her face is haunted by the deed she has done, and her eyes remain hollow and emotionless. I know she has killed before, but this one has taken something more from her.

"Hey!" she calls out, regaining strength in her voice as she shouts. "What's going on?" Nothing responds.

"Maybe it's the body. Maybe we have to move away from it," I suggest, not really knowing if this was the case or not. I don't remember there being any such rules in the past, and something about the silence looms ominously over us. As if they are waiting, but for what I don't know.

"Okay. Think you could make it to the lake?"

"Think I better try," is my solemn reply. Each movement is agony, but it's worth the price. I can tell Katniss is in pain, too, so I try to put on a brave face for her as we slowly inch down the horn onto the bloodied ground below. I see the irony, now, that the very thing Haymitch warned us away from at the beginning is actually what has saved our lives.

We make it to the lake, and my leg gives out on me before I can reach the water. Katniss thankfully brings me a sip of cool water cupped in her hands, and I try to convey my thanks through my eyes. Really all I want to do is pull her into my arms and tell her everything is going to be okay, that we've made it. Bt somehow I know things aren't going to be that way anymore. Not after everything we've seen. Not after these last few hours, when the cruelty of the games and the government have been so explicitly shown.

A mockingjay startles us both with its low whistle, and at last Cato's body is removed from the arena. I'm at a loss for words as I look around, searching for the hovercraft that will take us home. To District 12. Together.

"What are they waiting for?" I ask after several moments have passed and nothing has happened. I can feel the blood slowly seeping from the infected gash on my thigh, and I hope they don't take much longer, for I don't know how long I can wait.

"I don't know," says Katniss, frowning. Tear tracks streak down her face, whether from relief, horror or some combination of the two I don't know. I study her for a moment, realizing how close I came to losing her so many times. Would I have ever known her without the Hunger Games? Would she have ever loved me? The Hunger Games represent everything that is wrong with our society, yet still I can't help but be thankful for them for bringing me closer her.

She turns back a walks toward me, carrying the arrow she shot Cato with in her hand. I open my mouth to say something to her, perhaps tell her how very much I love her, when Cladius Templesmith's voice interrupts me.

"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."

My heart contracts in a pain that completely eclipses the burning in my leg, but if I'm being honest with myself, I'm not that surprised. Of course this is what they always had planned. The star-crossed lovers reunited, only to be torn again at the end in what is sure to be the most heart wrenching of all the games. I should never have been so naïve as to think that Katniss and I would both be allowed to win. Now, as I see the disbelief and dismay on her face, I know the time has come for me to finally follow my promises with actions.

"If you think about it, it's not that surprising," I say calmly, wishing to draw away some of her tension. She turns toward me, completely at a loss. I, however, know exactly what I'm going to do. The knife at my belt seems to weigh a hundred pounds as I pull it from its sheath, wondering where to stab it so that my death will be the least agonizing.

Katniss notices the flash of metal, and with the speed of a born hunter has an arrow trained on my heart. I toss the knife away, allowing her the chance for my final blow, but she drops her bow in shame.

"No," I say. "Do it." At least this way it will be quick, because despite her flaws Katniss would never make anyone suffer like this. I try to raise the bow in her hands again, but she steps backward and shakes her head.

"I can't," she says, her voice cracking. "I won't." She seems so heartbroken, but the time has passed for comforting words. Those have been taken away from us, and all that is left is my breaking heart as I tell the girl I love to kill me.

"Do it. Before they send those mutts back or something. I don't want to die like Cato." The thought of Cato's last hours haunt me. I see him in my mind's eye as he is tortured in the most grotesque fashion, and I know it is only a matter of time before the game makers devise an even worse fate for Katniss and I.

"Then you shoot me," she retorts, shoving the weapon to me. It feels tainted in my grip, as if my soul can sense the purpose she wants me to accomplish with it. "You shoot me and go home and live with it!" The corner of my mouth creeps up in a humorless smile, because after all my professions of love she still doesn't understand that I have no home without her.

"You know I can't," I say, gingerly laying her weapon on the ground. I still believe Katniss has enough will left in her to survive, and truly to kill me, if it came down to it. She has so much more to live for than I do, and while she may love me her feelings cannot possibly mirror my own. Still, I'm not willing to take the risk and wait for whatever the game makers have in store. "Fine, I'll go first anyway." I lean over and rip the tattered bandage off my festering wound, and blood seeps out, much faster now. I know I won't last long like this.

"No, you can't kill yourself!" she cries desperately, attempting to re-bandage my wound.

"Katniss," I say, my heart in my words, "It's what I want."

She's still on her knees beside me, eyes focused on my wound because she refuses to let me see her tears. "You're not leaving me here alone," she says, her voice muffled though each word cuts through my heart like a blade.

I pull her up, not too gently though because I need her to hear my words. "Listen," I say, softly but fiercely, "We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please, take it. For me." My hands grip her elbows tightly, and though our bodies remain inches apart I feel the tension running between us. "Katniss, I can't live without you, don't you see? There is nothing left for me in District 12. I can't wake up every day—any day!—knowing that you aren't here and that I didn't stop it. I vowed from that very first day that you would return home, and I intend to keep that promise. Think of what you have to live for. Prim, your mother, Madge, Gale!" The last name burns my throat, but I am willing to do anything if it got her to realize that I am right. "Katniss, I love you. I have loved you for the past 10 years. There _is _no future for me without you, but you can still have one without me. Please, Katniss," I beg, though I can sense she is no longer listening.

Instead, she fumbles with a pouch at her belt for a moment, drawing out a few small berries. I recognize them immediately, having accidentally killed Foxface with them what seems like an eternity ago. I grip her wrist tightly before she can swallow them. "No," I protest, "I won't let you."

She turns her face to me and whispers, "Trust me." Her deep gray eyes are wide, though they have horror written behind them. Her dirty cheeks are smudged with tears, and scratches line her delicate face. In that moment she has never been more beautiful to me, simply for the fact that she is _here_. She is living, breathing, fighting, and I don't believe that she would give that up so easily now that we have made it this far.

I let go, and she reaches for my hand a fills it with about half the berries. Suddenly her plan becomes clear to me, and my own words echo in my head. _They have to have a victor._ Well, won't this be a shock to the Capitol. Instead of making the impossible decision of who survives, here a pair of star-crossed lovers will take their lives. "On the count of three?"

I place the palm of my free hand across the side of her face caressingly and lean down to kiss her one last time. It is unlike any of the kisses we have shared before. It is not filled with desperation, need, or triumph. Instead, it is filled with the simple knowledge that we will be together. To me, this is proof of our love. That neither of us can live without the other, and that death together is far better than life apart. "The count of three," I whisper.

She gazes at me for a moment longer before turning around so that we are standing back to back. I grasp her empty hand with mine, needed to be connected our last moments together.

"Hold them out," she orders. "I want everyone to see."

Yes, I think, see what you have done to us. See what you have pushed us to. We are just children, yet we have seen more cruelty than should exist in this world.

"One."

See what you have made of us. I, the baker's son, have taken a human life. I, the boy with the bread, have fought and have won. I, the boy who was on fire, have not lost myself in your twisted games.

"Two."

We, the star-crossed lovers, will not play by your rules. We will not live apart. See what you have done to us, the innocent.

"Three."

Without hesitation I bring the berries to my mouth.

* * *

**Now obviously we all know Peeta doesn't actually die here. But I didn't want him to know this at the end. I wanted it to be clear that he _would_ have died for her. While Katniss knew this was just a ploy to trick the Capital, there was no question in Peeta's mind that he would die if it meant he didn't have to live without her. I think that's a very important part of Peeta's character and I didn't want to ruin it by him finding out they both do get to live. **


	10. End

End

**Finally! It's done! This is officially the first fanfic I have ever completed, and I am SO excited. I'd also like to apologize for taking about a million times longer than I planned...especially with this last chapter.**

**It was so hard to write! I didn't want to break Peeta's heart for one thing, and, having never experienced a broken heart myself I was at a bit of a loss as to how to write Peeta's. So please excuse me for being a bit cliche-it's all I had to base it on. **

**Finally, THANK YOU ALL for being so amazing. The reception to this story has been great, I can't even describe how much it means to me. I'd also like to tell you all that I will be writing a companion story for _Catching Fire_! I don't have a title or the events picked out yet, I still need to reread it to decide. But keep your eyes open, it will be up (hopefully) soon. **

**Thank you all so much again!**

* * *

Katniss presses her head against the cool glass of the window, and it's obvious something is wrong. I can't figure out what's the matter, though.

Other than the fact that she is still reeling from the Games, as I am.

I grab her hand and tug her lightly to the door of the train, which has finally come to a stop. "Come on," I say, "They've stopped for fuel. Let's go take a walk." I think fresh air will do us both good, and she follows me without a word.

The air is crisp, and though the sun is shining brightly I feel no trace of warmth. Katniss remains silent. I wish I knew what is going on in her mind! I don't understand why sometimes she acts just as in love as we were in the Arena, while others it seems almost as if she doesn't know me.

I notice a few brightly colored wildflowers sprouting from the earth a few feet from us, so I pick them and carefully arrange them into a bouquet. With a small smile I present them to her, hoping to elicit some sort of positive reaction from her. She takes them and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, but I can tell the smile on her face is forced.

I want to reach out to her and simply pull her into my arms and tell her everything is going to be okay now, but I've learned that won't solve our problems. Instead, keeping my distance, I ask, "What's wrong?"

Katniss' eyes cloud for a moment, not long enough for me to discern anything from them. Not as if I actually could. I had known her so well in the Arena, but her every thought is a secret to me now. I know everything since the Games has been so much to take. I know she is grieving for Rue and for all the other tributes. And I know she is upset about my leg, too. Still, I had hoped this was something we could deal with together. After all, I'm feeling just as lost as she is.

"Nothing," she responds shakily, though I can practically see the words on her lips. I don't press the issue, hoping she will tell me when she is ready. We continue to walk, well past the confines of the train. I wonder if she too simply wants to walk away and never look back.

I see Haymitch coming up behind Katniss, but she is so distracted that he startles her when he places his hand on her shoulder. His voice is low as he says, "Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay."

My brow furrows as I watch him return to the train. His words make no sense. What do we need to keep up? Why wouldn't we be okay? I look to Katniss, expecting to see the same confusion mirrored on her face. Instead, she is pointedly avoiding my gaze.

"What does he mean?" I ask, for I'm certain now that she understands.

"It's the Capitol. They didn't like our stunt with the berries." Her words are rushed, as if getting them out quickly will some how make it better.

Stunt? That's certainly not how I thought of it. Still, I don't understand what the berries have to do with anything, especially the Capitol.

"What? What are you talking about?" I ask. I move in closer to Katniss, but she pulls back as she continues.

"It seemed to rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn't make it worse."

"Coaching you? But not me," I respond, still confused.

"He knew you were smart enough to get it right," she says. I can see her fumbling for the words to get across what she means. Or at least what she wants me to think she means.

"I didn't now there was anything to get right." The pieces are startling to come together in my head, and I hear my voice rising unintentionally in anger and disbelief. "So, what you're saying is, these last few days, and then I guess…back in the arena…that was just some strategy you two worked out."

"No," she stammered, sounding desperate. "I mean, I couldn't even talk to him in the arena, could I?"

"But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn't you?" She bites her lip, unwilling to answer. Suddenly, it all clicks into place. _Oh God…_I drop her hand and stumble backward as the true meaning behind her words finally reaches me.

"It was all for the Games." With those five words my world has stopped turning. "How you acted." The rage has completely left my voice. It's adopted a dead, emotionless tone and Katniss flinches with each word.

She looks so forlorn as she grips the flowers I gave her and responds, "Not all of it." I hate that my heart still goes out to her. That I still want to pull her close to me and tell her it's all going to be okay. But I know it's not.

"Then how much of it?" I ask, my voice cracking. I stop her before she can answer, though, realizing I don't actually want to know. "No, forget that." I take a deep breath. "I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?"

She folds her arms around herself tightly. "I don't know," she says quietly. "The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get." She adds no more, and though I have a million more questions, I don't ask.

"Well, let me know when you work it out," I choke out as I turn and stumble back to the train. I wonder if she can hear my heart breaking in my voice. I wonder if she knows that despite this, every step I take away from her are the hardest things I've ever had to do in my life.

I wonder if she knows that even now I would come running back to her with just a word.

My mind reels as I barely manage to make it back to my small compartment on the train, locking the door firmly behind me. I got some strange looks on the way, but I didn't stop long enough for anyone to ask me if I was okay. I honestly don't know what I would have said.

Am I okay? I hardly know what 'okay' is anymore. I look down at myself and see no bleeding wounds, no hideous bruises or grotesque stings. In fact, the only thing less than physical perfection is my leg—or lack thereof.

Still, I feel like if there were a way to look inside myself anyone could see that I am injured beyond healing. _Broken heart_. The words have always been meaningless to me. A clichéd phrase. Yet suddenly they resonate in every fiber of my being. Though my heart doesn't just feel broken. It feels mangled, torn, stomped on and betrayed. I didn't realize it could hurt so much to lose something you never had.

She didn't love me.

She doesn't love me.

She lied.

The irony of it struck me then. I remember having teased her for being such a bad liar. Angrily I wipe a few tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand. Yet they keep coming. I kick the post of my bed in frustration, succeeding only in making a horrible clanging noise and sending a jolt up my entire body as metal makes contact with metal.

I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes, shutting out the world. "I hate Katniss Everdeen," I say slowly, making each word clear as if trying to force myself to believe them. But the words feel foreign, forbidden on my tongue. I want to take them back the moment I say them for I know they will never be true. I sigh in defeat and sink toward the ground until I am reclined against the wall, my head sinking into my hands. "I love Katniss Everdeen," I whisper. My one immortal truth.

I don't know how long I sit there. Minutes, hours—hell it could have been days. But when I finally raise my head there's no doubt in my mind what I plan on doing.

I will keep her alive. I will keep her alive if it takes my life. If it takes my heart, my soul. I will keep her alive if every day I have to get up and look in her face and see that she doesn't love me. If every day I feel a glimmer of hope as she pretends to love me for the Capitol, only to be crushed when the cameras are gone.

I will keep her alive if she loves someone else.

So, when the train finally stops and we meet again as we are about to exit the train. I say nothing to her until the train doors are just about to open. Then, using all the strength I possess to not betray the pain, I extend my hand to hers. "One more time? For the audience?" I ask.

She looks at me for a long moment before taking my hand and grips it tightly. I see her smile widely as she can—all for the camera of course, not for me—and once again feel my hearty break knowing that it is not me she loves. Yet still I plaster an equally large smile on my face and prepare myself for what lies on the other side of those iron doors.

After all, the heart is the only thing that still works after its broken.


	11. Thank You!

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